Impossible Perfection
by Sapphire Gray Black
Summary: Hermione was always under so much pressure. Pressure to be perfect. After everything she has been through, she is tired of living up to everybody's expectations.
1. Expectations

**A/N: Hey guys, I was just thinking about Hermione, and decided to write this, as I see so many similarities between her and myself. It will be focused mainly on her life as it relates to all the pressure she is under. I think this will be my "Hermione" story, so I will continue it and add more chapters. I am pretty new at writing fanfiction, so please tell me if there is anything I can improve. Feel free to tell me what you like and what you don't; I can handle criticism. Any reviews will be greatly appreciated, but I won't be one of those demanding authors who rants about not getting enough reviews and withholds chapters. I'll also try to update as much as I can. And I promise to never abandon a story.**

**This first chapter is short, but that is just because it is the prologue. **

**This story is set after the end of the war, and everything will follow canon (except for the epilogue). **

_**Impossible Perfection**_

Hermione was done. She was done. She was always under so much pressure. Pressure to be smart, to get good grades. Pressure to be perfect.

Growing up, she had always been different. Granted, she was a witch growing up with muggles, but she was also different in other ways. She really wanted to learn. She always got the best grades, always knew everything, and always did her best in everything she did, especially her schoolwork. She was often teased for not only her hair, but for reading while other children were running, for being eager to answer every question in class, for eating fruit instead of candy.

When she arrived at Hogwarts, she was ready to begin the next part of her life. She greeted every new challenge with determination, and every opportunity to learn with enthusiasm. She gave everything her best effort. She seemed unaffected by negative remarks, and was proud of who she was. She was a muggleborn, but through her extensive reading she knew more about the wizarding world than most purebloods.

Throughout her schooling she somehow balanced everything. She kept her position at the top of her class, she continued learning, all while helping her friends. She was pivotal in the downfall of one of the most powerful dark wizards in history; she was the brains behind the golden trio, and all as a teenager.

After all these years, people expected perfection. She was expected to raise her hand every time a professor asked a question. She was expected to always have an answer. She was expected to always get an "O" on everything. And she did. But after so many years of living up to people's expectations, she was tired of it. She was tired of knowing everything. She was done.

Because beneath it all, she was just a teenage girl. She was a real person, something people usually did not think about. She had feelings and emotions, and she had her insecurities. And behind what people thought was perfection, there was an overwhelming fear of failure.


	2. Repercussions

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! I know, it's really short again, I'm sorry. But that's because I am still kind of setting up before the story starts. Think of this as prologue part two. I thought it would be better to have slightly shorter chapters, so I can update sooner. I am pretty busy and don't have much time to write, but if the chapters are shorter, I can update a lot faster, and I think I will be more motivated to keep writing that way. But anyways, future chapters will definitely be a lot longer, so don't let this put you off. Oh, and I do have an actual storyline planned, it will start next chapter.**

_Repurcussions_

Hermione sighed. She had been looking forward to having a nice cup of tea, a relaxing bath, and going to bed early. But first, she had to finish her Charms essay.

After the war, she had been invited to return to Hogwarts and finish her education. As Hermione Granger, she of course could have gotten any job she wanted, but, like always, she was determined to do things the proper way. So she, along with a few others from her year, decided to come back for a formal "redo." Harry and Ron decided to start auror training, and honestly, even Hermione could not blame them for wanting to finally start their lives. Among those who returned were Neville Longbottom from Gryffindor, Luna Lovegood and another girl from Ravenclaw, three Hufflepuffs, and Draco Malfoy. These "eighth years" were given some privileges. They did not have a curfew, and were allowed to leave the school grounds at any time. As there were only eight of them, they were not divided into their houses, but instead shared a common room, in an isolated tower overlooking the lake. The plus side to this was that they each had individual rooms and bathrooms. Being away from the rest of the members of their houses allowed them time to reflect on themselves as people. The war had changed all of them, and the things that filled the lives of the younger students no longer seemed of any significance to them anymore.

The war had especially changed Hermione. Basically, it had left her tired. Just getting through the day made her collapse into bed at night, but it still took her hours to get to sleep. She would think about her life, her decisions, her regrets. Sometimes she would have nightmares. They were not of specific events, or really of horrors of any kind, but sometimes she wished they were. They were of a sort of nothingness, that left her feeling empty when she woke up in the morning. Sometimes she dreamed she was falling, alone, in the dark. The sleepless nights left dark smudges under her eyes.

Physically, she was a lot thinner, probably because of last year. The months of being on the run, camping in the in the forest with little or nothing to eat at times, had taken their toll on her. She looked fragile. Perhaps it was because of months of running, of worrying about the war, and the stress of trying to stay alive last year. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of Bellatrix's torture. There was no denying the effects of her brief stay at Malfoy Manor. The prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus did cause some nerve damage, and left her slightly shaking sometimes. It was only noticeable if someone played close attention, but it was there, nonetheless. And then there was the scar.

The emotional repercussions of everything were just too complex for her to even begin to explore, so she just suppressed it all.


	3. Shattered Glass

_Shattered Glass_

It was the second week of December, and there were only a few weeks left before the end of the term. For Hermione, that meant only months until finally graduating. Although lately, the prospect seemed to her more one of escape than of achievement.

All year long she had done what was expected of her. She was still taking the hardest classes, keeping up with her coursework, and topping the year. But what people did not realize was that behind every "O" on an exam, there were many sleepless nights spent studying, and behind every flawless essay, an entire afternoon of lost time.

What people failed to realize, was that she was no longer the same Hermione Granger. There were signs, of course, but no one saw them. She no longer was excited in classes; she merely sat there, existing, but not participating. She no longer reveled in pride after receiving back graded assignments, but instead glanced at them with indifference. But nevertheless, she continued to keep everything going, so no one suspected anything. They knew she was Hermione Granger. They knew she was perfect.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Hermione's last class of the day was Potions. She was exhausted, but she told herself that she could take a nap right after class. Sighing, she made her way down to the dungeons. As she walked through the door of the classroom, she saw that Professor Slughorn was not at his desk. In his place was a beautiful young witch with sleek black hair and gray eyes. Wondering, Hermione sat down at her desk, and got ready to begin.

"Hello class," the unknown lady said in a strong yet friendly voice. "I am Katherine Glass, I am here to teach you Potions for the next few weeks until the holidays. Professor Slughorn had to leave to attend to some personal matters, but he will be back for the start of the term."

"Professor Glass," said Neville Longbottom, with an anxious expression on his face. "Is everything alright with him? Professor Slughorn, I mean."

"Oh, yes," she said quickly, "Don't worry, it was just a matter of selling some property or something, I think. Nothing at all to be concerned about. He decided that as he was traveling anyways, he might as well prolong his holiday and enjoy himself. God knows how much we all need a break, after the war."

"Anyways," she said, brightening up. "Today we will be brewing the Dreamless Sleep Potion, as I understand you did an essay on it for homework last night. The instructions are on the board."

As Hermione got out the ingredients and prepared to make the potion, she decided that she really liked this new professor. She was nice, seemed reasonable, and being closer to the students' age, was more relatable. Hermione quickly settled down, ready to start. Her partner in this class was Draco Malfoy, as they were both similar in skill level. At first, this arrangement was slightly awkward, for obvious reasons, but they soon grew accustomed to it. Draco was not like he used to be, or at least he was more subdued than before. They usually did not talk much though, and not at all about anything significant, and just focused on their work, so neither of them really minded.

For some reason, Hermione was feeling really happy today. She was still tired, but happy. As she started stirring the cauldron, she resolved right then to stop being miserable. She was going to put her best effort into this potion, and into everything else she did.

"Miss Granger," said Professor Glass, as she made her way towards them. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to roll up your sleeves for safety reasons," she said with a friendly smile. "I know you must have just forgotten; I've heard how responsible you are from all the other teachers."

Hermione's eyes widened, like a deer caught in headlights. 'What do I do?' she thought frantically. 'Professor Slughorn knows about the scar, so he was alright with my never rolling up my sleeves.' Indeed, he had been very understanding, and had allowed her to cast charms on her sleeves to make them anti- flammable and poison repellent. 'But I can't tell her that. Not in front of the whole class. What should I do?' By this point, Hermione was beginning to panic, her heart beating faster and her breathing growing heavier.

"Miss Granger," Professor Glass repeated, this time looking slightly concerned. "Are you alright?"

She didn't move.

"Oh bloody hell, Granger! Just roll up your damn sleeves so we can finish this potion!" shouted an irritated Malfoy, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

Hermione panicked. She had no idea what to do. So she ran. She ran out of the classroom, down the corridors, away from everything. 'What the hell,' she thought. 'How did everything go out of control so quickly? I hate Professor Glass.' The still logical part of brain knew that this was not fair, but her opinion of Katherine Glass had nonetheless been shattered forever. 'And Malfoy, he of all people should have known, he should have known why I don't roll up my sleeves! He was bloody there; it was his aunt, it was his own house!' She was sobbing hysterically by this point. "I can't do this anymore," she out loud to herself. I just can't do this anymore.'

Ten minutes later, she found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, tears pouring down her face. Standing up, she slowly ran her hand over the intricately carved wooden bedposts, and the soft, silky sheets. Her fingers carefully traced the calm floral pattern on the luxurious duvet. 'I don't deserve this,' she thought to herself. 'I really don't deserve any of it.'

She walked into her bathroom, which was equally wonderful. The marble floor shone in the light, and was comfortably warm under her now bare feet. The shower was huge; she did not tell anyone, but this was her sanctuary. It was where she would go to relax. The hot water that engulfed her in steam was her relief from the stress of the world. And the water would conveniently hide her tears, in a place where she did not have to put up a façade for anybody.

Today, though, the shower was not her destination. She walked over to the sparkling sink and took off her clothes, placing them neatly on the shelf. Slowly, she turned around to face the mirror. In the long, thin piece of reflecting glass, she was shown reality. The person staring back at her was who she was. Nothing more, nothing less. And on that person, certain features stood out and demanded that their presence be acknowledged.

Her scars.

Taking up the ornate metal soap dish, she threw it at that mirror with all she had, finally shattering the glass that had been haunting her for months.


	4. Scars

**A/N: Hey guys, here is the next chapter. It's really short again, I know, but I think it was a necessary bit that wouldn't really fit anywhere else. Next chapter will have more in terms of plot, and will be a more reasonable length, I promise. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited. I really appreciate it!**

_Scars_

Hermione didn't need that piece of glass to see her reflection. She already knew.

She knew how she looked. She knew how she had changed. In a way, these past few months she had been mourning. She grieved for the loss of so many, as did the rest of the survivors. But the first casualty of war is innocence, a fact most overlooked. Because the truth of the matter was that the war had taken her innocence. She was only eighteen; she had first been a part of the war when she was only twelve. When she should have been enjoying the freedom of youth, the happiness of the best years of her life, she was forced instead to become a warrior.

And she had risen to the challenge. She stayed strong to help everyone else. She selflessly sacrificed her youth to save everyone else. And not once had she complained.

But it had taken its toll. It had left its marks.

She didn't need to look in that mirror, because she knew what she would see.

She would see a long scar across her chest, from Dolohov's curse in the Department of Mysteries. It was certainly not the first time she had been in danger, but it was her first real battle. And it had left her with her first battle scar. She remembered the fear, the adrenaline, and the shock and pain when she saw the purple flames. It had healed, but the reminder remained, the long pink jagged scar, standing out against her pale skin. At the time, she had been proud; she had earned that scar fighting in her first battle. She was protecting her friends, she was protecting what was good. She was sixteen, the world was full of hope. The scar symbolized her devotion to the cause, to her friends, to the light. But now, standing on her bathroom floor, Hermione would see just another mark on her body, reminding her of what she lost. Hermione would see just another imperfection.

Standing in front of the invisible mirror, she would see the scars on her arm. Her left forearm, to be exact. She laughed bitterly at the irony. This scar symbolized so much more than her thoughts could even begin to accept. _Mudblood_. The indelible word stood out starkly against her pale skin. This scar was not faded, was not healed. Bellatrix had used a cursed knife; the word shone brightly red on her arm just as clearly today as it had on that day when it was carved there. It would still twinge at times, but whether in pain or in memory, she did not know. What she did know, however, was that it was true. She was a mudblood. This scar symbolized the prejudice and hatred that had fueled the war. She had been told that she should wear it proudly, as a reminder of all that she had faced and overcome, as a symbol of her strength. But now, standing on her bathroom floor, Hermione would only see it a symbol of her weakness.

Standing in front of the invisible mirror, Hermione would see not only her scars, but every other imperfection. The war had taken its toll. Her eyes would look tired and red, both from crying and from lack of sleep. She would have dark circles and wrinkles under her eyes. They would not be aflame with the once bright fire, but instead filled with a dull emptiness. With a sense of sadness, she realized that she was far too young to have wrinkles around her eyes.

Her thin frame seemed ready to collapse, being held up by sheer will alone. Her skin was far too pale, and it was obvious that she was tired, not only by the hollows under her eyes, but also by her overall appearance.

What Hermione would see as she looked into the invisible mirror, was a young woman who had seen and endured far too much. She would see someone with wisdom far beyond her years, and someone who had grown weary of the burden that accompanied this wisdom. What Hermione would see as she looked into the mirror, was a woman who had nothing left to give.

Closing her eyes, she turned the knob in the huge shower, and slowly stepped in. The water was too hot for comfort, but she just stood there and let it wash over her.


	5. Static Parchment

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry, I know it's been a while. Life just kinda... well, whatever. Anyways, those of you that are reading this, (I know it's not many, but that shouldn't minimize you guys), I would really love it if you told me what I can do to improve this! Also, about my updating schedule, I'm just going to be honest; I don't know how regular I can be. That being said, however, I will promise to try my best. I think I will also write a few shorter pieces, but I will keep going on this.**

_Static Parchment_

More than anything, she resented the fact that everything that had happened over the last year, last several years really, had been completely out of her control. Yes, it could be said that she affected the outcome of the war, but really, the war affected her. The fact that she was even swept up in a war in a completely different world than she had grown up in, just showed her how much she really had control over her life.

Turning the water off, she decided that she was going to take control. She was done being passive, she was done being predictable, and she was done being perfect. She didn't have to be defined by what people thought of her; she was free to live her life.

The realization hit her so suddenly that she sank to floor, still wet in the now silent shower. She barely registered the cold tiles against her skin. She was alive. She was fucking alive. She had survived the damn war, and now she was free.

Standing up, she stepped out of the shower, with her hair dripping and water sliding down her bare skin. For the first time in months, she marveled at the fact that her heart was beating.

'Screw the world and its expectations. I am Hermione Granger, and I am going to live my life.'

Hermione put on a dressing gown, wrapped her hair up in a towel, and walked to the mirror in her room, since she had shattered the one in the bathroom. Her eyes were a bit puffy, but they finally looked alive. Wanting to look a little different, she applied a bit more mascara than she normally did, and added thick black eyeliner. Not wanting to look too dramatic, however, she decided to stick with her usual subtle pink lip stain and blush. She also used her wand to charm her curls into being more defined and tame, while still leaving them to be her signature crazy hair.

About to pick up her uniform from the bed, she changed her mind. 'I'm nineteen years old,' she thought, 'and it's a Friday night. I can wear whatever the hell I want.' She ruffled the contents of her closet around for a few minutes before deciding on a pair of black jeans and a long sleeved, soft maroon shirt.

Walking somewhat aimlessly through the castle, the day's previous incident now out of her mind, she found herself at the library. She thought it was actually quite funny, considering her motivations, but she wasn't upset. No matter how different she was, she could never be upset at the library. She smiled and walked in, reveling in the beautiful scent of ink and parchment. Some things never change.


End file.
